The Grand Crucible was no longer an arena; it had become a sacrificial altar. The pillar of silver light from the heavens didn't just illuminate the darkness—it burned it. The heat of the molten slag below was nothing compared to the holy radiance of the Silver Rose's Purge-Beam.
Alaric fell to his knees, clutching his right arm. The Star-Steel was no longer a cold shard; it had become a living river of liquid metal, fusing his flesh to the cold-iron chain. It was a bridge between his dying human heart and the overflowing power of the dragon-core.
"Alaric!" Evelyn's voice screamed from the spectator's tunnel. She was running toward him, her hands glowing with every stabilization spell she knew. "You have to move! The light... it's a locking spell!"
High above, descending on wings of pure mana, was a figure in armor so white it hurt to look at. Sir Gareth didn't need a ladder or a lift. He landed with the weight of a falling mountain, the stone beneath his greaves shattering instantly.
"I expected to find a corpse in the woods, Alaric," Gareth said, his voice calm, yet carrying the authority of a god. "I did not expect to find you wearing the skin of a beast and playing in the dirt of the underworld."
Alaric looked up, his golden eyes burning through the steam. "I am what you made me, Gareth. You threw me to the wolves, and I became the thing that eats them."
Gareth drew his sword—a massive claymore etched with the names of a thousand martyrs. "Then I shall finish the job. For the sake of your soul, I will erase this heresy."
"Evelyn, go!" Alaric roared, thrusting his modified arm forward.
As Gareth swung his blade, Alaric didn't dodge. He used his new Star-Steel arm to catch the holy sword mid-air. The collision sent a shockwave that blew out the remaining supports of the arena. White sparks clashed with violet frost.
"You've changed your nature, but you still fight like a soldier," Gareth observed, putting more pressure on the blade. "But a dragon is just a lizard that hasn't met its end yet."
Suddenly, the floor beneath them tilted dangerously. The Grand Crucible was falling into the lake of slag.
"Not today, old man," Alaric hissed.
He didn't fight back. Instead, he channeled his frost-breath into the ground beneath Gareth's feet, turning the solid iron into brittle glass. As the platform cracked, Alaric grabbed the dazed Evelyn and leaped toward the jagged walls of the cavern, his claws digging deep into the rock as they began their desperate climb toward the surface.
The hunt was no longer a secret. It was a war.